


Dead Men Naked They Shall be One (One Henry Morgan)

by Aragarna



Category: Forever (TV 2014)
Genre: Episode Tag, F/M, Post-Finale, Reveal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-15 13:01:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29808801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aragarna/pseuds/Aragarna
Summary: Henry looked back at the photo, pondering his next move. Finally, he looked up at Jo. “It’s a long story,” he said with an uncertain smile. “But not here,” he added, glancing over her shoulder, as if afraid of being observed. “Please, come in, Detective.”Jo is determined to get the truth out of Henry Morgan. Henry is tired of lying to his partner. When he finally tells her about his very special condition, he hopes he didn't just make a terrible mistake.My take on what happens just after the finale.
Relationships: Jo Martinez/Henry Morgan
Comments: 13
Kudos: 27





	Dead Men Naked They Shall be One (One Henry Morgan)

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Stingalingaling for the beta!
> 
> This is my take on what happens after the final scene. I know there's already been many fics about the Big Reveal but hopefully you still have curiosity for one more. This is my first step in the Forever fandom. Probably not the last one... ;-)
> 
> Title from _And Death Shall Have no Dominion_ by Dylan Thomas

Jo knocked on the door of the old antique shop. Through the glass, she caught sight of Henry and Abraham playing chess. Henry turned around and a bright smile illuminated his face as he recognized his partner. With a spring in his step, he skipped to the door to welcome her. Jo felt a knot in her stomach. Why did Henry have to be so charming? And this lovely blue shirt he was wearing certainly didn’t help her in keeping a yet necessary professional objectivity. There was something he wasn’t telling her, and she was determined to figure it out.

“Hello, detective,” he said cheerfully. “Do you have a new mystery for me to solve?”

Jo wielded the watch she recovered in the darkness of the subway. “Yeah, I think, you could say that.”

“Thank goodness!”, Henry exclaimed, somewhat exaggeratedly. “It was just stolen. I was about to file a police report, and… Well, here you are.”

Yet another lie. Straight to her face.

Henry’s smile faded as he reluctantly took the photo. Apparently, he didn’t have a lie ready for everything.

Abe, who had joined them on the threshold, glanced at the photo and exchanged a look with Henry. “Tell her,” he pressed.

So, the roommate was in on it. Interesting.

Henry looked back at the photo, pondering his next move. Finally, he looked up at Jo.

“It’s a long story,” he said with an uncertain smile. “But not here,” he added, glancing over her shoulder, as if afraid of being observed. “Please, come in, Detective.”

Stepping aside, he let the detective in and led her upstairs to an apartment he shared with Abraham. The antique dealer put on the “closed” sign on the door and followed them upstairs. Despite his best efforts to hide his nervousness, Jo detected an unusual stiffness in Henry’s gait. As they took their place in the living room – Henry taking the seat next to her on the sofa, as Abe discreetly settled in an old armchair next to them – her trusted ME would not meet her eyes. He sat at the edge of the sofa, straight as an arrow, his hands resting on his knees. This unusual uneasiness in Henry made Jo wonder what could be the story behind this old picture she had found in the subway next to his watch.

“Henry?” she encouraged him gently, showing him the picture again.

Henry picked it up and looked at it for a long time. A tender smile brushed his lips as his fingers caressed the glossy surface. 

He finally dared looking at Jo. “It’s me,” he said simply. “With Abigail and Abraham. In 1945.”

“1945 – what?” This made no sense.

“I told you about Abigail, the woman I loved. Not only was she my wife, but she was Abraham’s mother. This photograph was taken in front of our first house, the day we moved here, to start our new life as a family.”

Jo glanced at Abe who simply smiled at her, as if what Henry had just said was the most natural thing.

They had to be pulling her leg. The photo had faded, but it was clearly Henry, and judging by his looks, he was already in his thirties when it was taken, so the photograph couldn’t be that old. Henry had indeed mentioned Abigail before, though he’d definitely led her to think they did not have kids. Alternatively, Jo could believe the baby was Abraham, and the young woman in the photo could possibly be his mother, the woman who had disappeared in 1985. But then the young man in the photo, the man who looked exactly like Henry, could not be Henry.

She sighed. She had been foolish to think that by now, Henry would trust her enough to share some of his secrets. Apparently, she was wrong, and that pained her more than she would care to admit. Somehow, Henry had managed to revive that part of herself she had thought dead with her husband. Henry, seemingly without even trying, simply by being the caring, attentive and chivalrous man he was, had found his way to her heart. And she had thought, for a moment, that maybe, there was a possibility, that the feeling was mutual, that Henry trusted her. But it appeared she was wrong.

“Look, Henry...” she began.

But he cut her off, pressing, “I’m telling you the truth, Jo. I’m 235 years old. Listen, did Isaac tell you the story about the Empress of Africa?”

That damn boat again. “What is it about you and this ship?”

“Did he mention the doctor that was killed and thrown overboard?”

Jo did not understand where this was going but accepted to play along. “He said something about the key to the cells falling from a dead man’s hand, allowing the slaves to escape and organize a mutiny. One of them was Isaac’s ancestor, that’s why he was so interested in this ship.”

Henry nodded. “ _I_ am that doctor. The ship belonged to my father – something I am quite ashamed of – and I was traveling as the on-board physician. I intervened in favor of a sick slave but the captain had me shot. It should have been the end of the story, but rather inexplicably, I reemerged from the water, alive and healed, with only that big scar you were wondering about on my chest. I haven’t aged since. Every time I die, my body disappears and I come back to life, in the water, naked.”

Jo stared at Henry. He was dead serious. She opened her mouth to speak but she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say, then she closed it without having said a word.

“You don’t believe me,” he stated, visibly hurt.

Of course, she didn’t believe him. Even for Henry, this was completely nuts. Yet, something in his eyes made Jo flinch. It’s a look she had never seen in him. Scared, almost pleading. Terribly vulnerable. He wasn’t playing her. After a year of working with him, Jo knew Henry enough to see he was being honest with her right now. Which left her with only two options. Either Henry had lost his mind and was delusional, or he was telling the truth and he was… immortal?

Jo really didn’t know what to think. How could Henry expect her to believe such a story? Should she play into his fantasy? Should she, on the contrary, try to talk him out of it? All she was expecting coming here was for Henry to tell her that he had been keeping from her the fact he had a family. She was a bit upset that he would keep such a secret from her, but maybe he had his reasons. She’d just wanted to understand what that secret had to do with Henry’s unusual behavior during their last investigation. But whatever his reasons for his secret, he certainly didn’t have to come up with such a nonsense story.

She looked at Abraham. The old man’s smile had turned into a frown. He seemed annoyed. Not at Henry, for talking nonsense, but at her, for not believing this utter fantasy of immortality. His expression softened as he turned back toward his roommate. He bent over and put a comforting hand on Henry’s knee. Henry grabbed the hand and turned to him, as if looking for a reassurance. There was an obvious and complete intimacy between those two, and one that Jo could actually believe to be familial.

* * *

“It was a mistake,” Henry said, dejected. “Now you are going to think that I’m insane...”

His voice died in his throat as his heart shattered in his chest. It was Nora all over again.

Naturally, Jo did not believe him. He could not really blame her. He knew that his story would appear complete nonsense to someone as rational as the detective. He should not have let his nascent feelings for his partner get the best of his judgment. He knew better. Now, Jo was staring at him like he had gone mad, and suddenly Henry was afraid she would never see him the same way. She might start second guessing everything he said. She might even reconsider their partnership, and he would lose it all.

“I am not crazy,” he pleaded in a small voice, defeated. 

Abraham startled them by jumping to his feet “Pops, wait!” he exclaimed, dashing off.

Henry glanced sideways at Jo, to see if she had noticed. From her frowned expression, he gathered she had, indeed, noticed.

“ _Pops?_ ” she repeated.

Henry exaggeratedly rolled his eyes. “Kids, these days,” he said jokingly. “I have asked Abraham repeatedly to call me _father_ , like any accomplished, well-educated child must call their parent, but alas...”

This did get a smile from Jo, albeit, an uncertain one. Thankfully, Abraham came back, brandishing what Henry immediately recognized as the family album.

“There,” he said, dropping the heavy album in Jo’s hands. “Hard proof that Henry is telling the truth.”

As Abraham nudged his dad to move so that he could sit next to them, Henry found himself squeezed between him and Jo, their shoulders almost touching. Jo opened the old and worn photo album, probably the one thing, among all of Henry’s treasures, that held the most value in his eyes. He didn’t have any portraits from his childhood, or of his parents. He had a single picture of Nora, and no souvenirs from the few friends he shared a few years with throughout the nineteenth centuries. Even long after photography had become widely used, Henry had remained reluctant to having his picture taken. Not that he was averse to technological progress, but he was always afraid of leaving any tangible proof of his unnaturally long stay on this Earth. But he did regret having on several occasions refused James a picture that would have immortalize their little New York practice. It was not until he met Abigail that Henry finally gave in and bought a camera. Abigail, as the modern woman of the twentieth century she was, wanted to make sure they’d keep a trace of their family. She probably understood early on that one day, the photo album would be all Henry would have left of them.

“And here, that’s when I came back from Vietnam,” Abe said enthusiastically, pulling Henry out of his reverie. “I was so thin, but didn’t I look dashing in my uniform?”

Henry realized that they had gone through half the album, but Jo had stopped turning the pages. She was staring at him as if she was truly seeing him for the first time. Her eyes were now filled with compassion and understanding. She believed him.

Greatly relieved, Henry heaved a sigh.

“How is that possible?” Jo asked.

“Scientifically speaking, I have yet to figure this out.”

“And you said you were 235 years old? It means you were born in...” she made a pause, doing the math. “eighteen – no, seventeen eighty?”

“1779, to be exact.”

“Wow. Henry, you are _old.”_ Jo chuckled. _“_ You’re almost as old as the United States.”

“And actually older than the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland,” Henry added with a crooked smile.

Jo was now looking at Henry with renewed admiration, mixed with a hint of amusement. “That’s amazing,” she said. “So, what is the oldest historical event you remember?”

“The echo of the French revolution unfolding across the Channel, and the terror that quickly spread across the kingdom when they executed their king. The violence and horror were unsettling enough, but the fear of it sparking similar revolts and awakening old demons was greatly concerning.”

 _“_ You know, I’ve always thought you sounded much older than you looked.”

Henry nodded. While he had always done his best to appear to be a man of the modern times, certain habits do die hard. People don’t expect a man in his thirties to act or talk like an old man. Luckily for him, most people simply labeled his habits of ancient times as the eccentricities of an Englishman far from home.

Jo turned serious. “Who else knows?”

“Just Abe. And now you.”

“Not even Lucas? He’d have a field day if he knew his boss was immortal.”

Henry shook his head vigorously. “Certainly not. That young man has too vivid an imagination. Besides, he revers me enough as it is. He would see my curse as some sort of superpower, like someone from his comic books. No, Jo, this is a secret I’ve learned best to keep to myself. It’s truly important, Detective, that you do not talk to anyone about this.”

“What are you so afraid of?”

A sudden lump in Henry’s throat prevented him from answering. Disorderly memories flashed through his mind. Nora standing on the porch of their English house as he was dragged away. His dark cell at the asylum. Water forced down his throat. The agony, without the deliverance of death. Two hundred years had passed since his internment, two hundred years where he had lived many lives, yet the wound was still raw. The pain, as vivid as if it had barely been a week. Two hundred years, and he still couldn’t talk about it.

Luckily, Abraham came to his rescue and answered for him. “Nora, his first wife” he explained. “When Dad tried to tell her his secret, she sent him straight to the asylum.”

“A rather unpleasant experience,” Henry managed to articulate.

He cleared his throat and gathered his thoughts, ready to argue some more about the importance of keeping his condition a secret, but Jo simply nodded.

“Your secret is safe with me, Henry,” she said softly. “Thank you, for confiding in me. I know you are a private person. And I’m starting to understand where it’s coming from. I do have one last question: what does this have to do with your behavior of the past few days. And how did this photo and your watch end up in a subway service tunnel?”

Henry rolled his eyes and heaved a tired sigh. This was another long story and one that he would really like to put behind him. He wasn’t proud of what he had to do to get rid of Adam. “My stalker,” he said shortly.

“I thought you killed him.”

“He manipulated me. I killed the wrong man. It _was_ the right killer, but it was not my stalker.” Henry sighed. “He came after me again. He’s an immortal, too, and he’s extremely dangerous.”

“He’s a psychopath, that’s what he is,” Abraham groaned.

“But it’s all over now,” Henry said. “I took care of it.”

Jo frowned. “What do you mean? Did you kill him?”

“No!” Henry protested. “I -” Suddenly he was afraid that Jo would disapprove of his actions. He knew Adam didn’t give him much of a choice. He had to stop him. Adam had killed too many people and caused Henry too much pain. It wasn’t like any prison would hold him off for very long. “I sent him to the hospital. He won’t hurt anyone anymore.”

Henry felt weary all of a sudden. He really hoped Jo would let the matter go. He’d rather be teased about his old age. Anything to take his mind from thoughts of Adam. Luckily for him, Jo’s phone rang at that very moment. Saved by the proverbial bell.

She stood up and Henry watched her as she walked away to the kitchen to take the call. Henry couldn’t deny he had grown quite found of his partner and he found himself torn between his affection toward her, and his ingrained instinct to prevent getting too close to anyone. He knew he had a decision to take, but he didn’t want to. Since when had keeping people at bay become so hard?

Abraham gently patted Henry on the back. “You’re okay, Pops?”

Henry gave him a warm smile and nodded. “I guess it didn’t go too badly.”

“So, when are you gonna ask her out?”

Henry shot his incorrigible son a long look and chose to ignore the question.

“Dead body in Central Park,” Jo announced. “You coming?”

Henry sprang up. “I’ll be right behind you, Detective.” He turned to Abe. “Don’t wait up.”

He grabbed his coat, picked a light scarf, which he quickly wrapped around his neck before following his partner downstairs. As they walked down the street to her car, Jo slid her arm under his, and Henry’s heart started beating just a little faster.

They walked to her car in silence. There was no doubt Jo was mulling over their conversation. This sure was a lot to digest and Henry just hoped that knowing his secret – and his old age – would not alter too much the way she viewed him. Henry, meanwhile, was infinitely relieved not to have to lie to Jo anymore. That had been gradually weighting more and more heavily on him as the lies had piled up, creating a barrier between them, and making Jo shy away from him. But sharing his secret with her, far from breaking their partnership, seemed to have instantly restored their bond.

“So, when you were arrested for skinny dipping...”

Henry tilted his head. “Right… I don’t actually suffer from somnambulism.”

“And I guess you jumping in front of cars isn’t as reckless as it seems.”

“That would still have been quite painful, but the transitory state of my death tends to shift the risk-to-benefit ratio in my favor.”

“And when I thought I saw you jump from the roof, on our first case together?”

Henry nodded. “I’m afraid I did jump.” As they reached the car, he stopped and turned to face her. “I’m sincerely sorry I lied to you, Jo.”

“So why did you suddenly tell me the truth? You could have easily made up something about this photo, pretend it was a fake, or the man was your great-great-uncle, with whom you share an uncanny resemblance. Or maybe you were living a double life, with a whole family and a whole different life.”

“I could have,” Henry agreed. “But to be honest, I just didn’t want to lie to you anymore. This partnership, your friendship, mean a lot to me, and I could see I was putting it in jeopardy with my continuous lies.”

* * *

Jo's heart started racing and she felt the butterflies flutter in her stomach.

“Just friendship?” she blurred before realizing it.

Henry tilted his head in his adorable way and his gaze softened. Jo could feel herself blush like she was fifteen again. She straightened up, trying to give herself more composure. It was quite the mind gymnastic to look at Henry and remember he was more than twice the age of any normally mortal old man. More than his ability to come back from the dead, this was the thing Jo had the hardest time to take in. 235 years old in the body of a thirty-five years old. Did that make him an old man or forever young? Did that even matter?

“Look, Jo,” he said, with in that irresistible British accent of his. “Relationships are complicated. There’s no ‘grow old together’ for me. Inevitably, I’ll survive my wife and I will be left having to continue with my life on my own.”

She took his hands in hers and his sad smile broke her heart a little.

“I get it, Henry,” she said softly. “When Sean and I got married, we thought we’d grow old together. What we had; it was this kind of love where you just know you’ll be spending your life together. But then Sean was taken away from me, and I’m left with my whole life to live with this giant hole that nothing will ever fill. If I had known I'd lose him, if I had known the pain his death would cause me, would have I let myself love Sean? Six months ago, I might have said no. But the truth is, if this is all we could have, those few years of happiness with Sean were still worth living, and worth the heartbreak in the end.”

Somehow, they were very close now, their noses almost touching. She took a deep breath and went for it. He seemed hesitant at first, but then he kissed her back with more confidence, and an infinite tenderness.

“If you’d let me, I’d like to spend a bit of that eternal life with you,” Jo whispered.

Henry smiled. “I think I’d like that too.”


End file.
